


You'll Find Me All The Same

by Thwipp (Thwipp_Thwipp)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Marvel 616 (Freeform), Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Movie Spoilers, Multi, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thwipp_Thwipp/pseuds/Thwipp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiers and Harry band together to form The Sinister Six and to take their revenge. Nick Fury, aware of ‘Spider-Man’s’ connection to the ‘Green Goblin’, assigns Peter Parker to the task of hunting Harry Osborn – thus the Sinister Six - down. Meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D is being torn down from the inside, leaving Peter quite alone in his fight against the formidable force of Oscorp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the New Age

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts off where The Amazing Spider-Man 2: Rise of Electro finished off and unlike the movie, is set in the Marvel Cinematic Universe – so expect appearances from beloved characters such as Nick Fury, The Avengers, and many other personalities. There will be multiple viewpoints though mainly from Peter or Harry’s perspective. There will also most likely be one flashback per chapter.  
> SPOILERS: Captain America: The Winter Soldier and The Amazing Spider-Man 2: Rise of Electro  
> De-briefing:  
> Aleksei Systevich – one of the many aliases for The Rhino (Webb-verse)  
> Officer Richards – OMC  
> Gustav Fiers – ‘The Gentleman’ (Webb-verse)  
> Curt Connors – The Lizard (Webb-verse)  
> Felicia Hardy – Black Cat (Webb-verse)  
> James "Logan" Howlett - The Wolverine  
> Dr. Rajit Ratha – ‘Dr. Rajit Ratha was the Director of Business Development in the Biogenetic Division of Oscorp in Manhattan’ (Marvel Movies Wiki, 2014).

_Manhattan streets, Present Day_

“That’s a job well-done, Spidey!” Officer Richards said, staring admirably at the smoking, twisted metal bulk crowding the street.

Aleksei Systevich was trapped within the jagged wreck, coughing pathetically as the smoke rose like a smooth screen around him. His bald head, as usual, was flushed in rage and his eyes were bulging out of his head. His shouts were obnoxious and full of expletives. A band of officers quickly surrounded ‘The Rhino’ and began to free him from the wreck, whilst two other officers stood back with their firearms raised at the mobster.

Peter’s grin was wide behind the mask, “Oh, you know how it is, Richards. Just punch their lights out once their fuel burns out.”

Richards laughed in agreement, shaking his head as he went. The hulking Rhino suit gave a strange hissing sound and the officers jumped back in alarm whilst Systevich laughed maniacally. Richards, keeping his distance, peered at the Rhino armour curiously.

“Strange looking suit, ain’t it? Do you reckon we’ll need to call Stark in? Doesn’t look like his, but you never know. That damn Hulk-buster armor gave my boys a right surprise last month. Thought those damned aliens had returned or something.”

Peter laughed, “Wouldn’t hurt to check, I suppose. But your right, it _does_ look strange. And doesn’t Stark have some sort of fetish for hot-rod paint jobs? This suit looks scary and utterly mental, not Stark’s style I’m afraid. Not _fabulous_ enough.”

Richards chortled bitterly, “I wish you were wrong, Spidey, but damn if that isn’t Stark to a tee.”

A violent shouting match cut into their conversation. Richards practically broke his neck to turn around and see the ruckus. Peter rolled his eyes at the sight of Systevich roaring loudly at the officers, proclaiming his superiority as ‘The Rhino’. The officers had finally torn his weedy body from the twisted suit and Systevich did _not_ want to leave it. _Systevich was truly a unique specimen_ , Peter mused.

Richards sighed loudly his eyes still acutely on Systevich, “You know, I thought this job would be a whole lot different when I joined the force. But now every jerk with an engineering degree and money is constructing some sort of metal suit and ripping up this town,” Richards shivered, “…I don’t think I’ve slept properly in months. And now that we’re ‘not alone’ and all, everyone’s trying to prepare for an apocalypse or the like.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to reply but was literally saved by the bell – or his ringtone – either way.

“Sorry, Richards, I have to take this.”

“It’s good to see you back on the job, Spidey.” Richards said warmly, waving him off understandingly before he went back to muttering about the abominable Rhino armor currently choking the street, bound to impede the traffic for the next few hours. Already, the clean-up had arrived – a large heavy-duty truck with a squad of shady looking people. Most likely feds.

It was Aunt May on the phone of course, wanting him to pick up some groceries and things. Peter nodded dazedly, half-listening, mostly from the exertion of the fight and partly because he couldn’t quite believe that he was finally back on the scene. Being Spider-Man. Saving the day.

A strange gnawing erupted in his gut and he felt slightly nauseous. The last time he’d donned the suit he’d watched as Gwen Stacy had literally slipped through his fingers and met a cold unforgiving death. He’d watched from a distance as strange men carried away a man he’d once called his best friend, screaming and writhing. He’d then erupted into fits of cruel laughter that had made Peter’s blood freeze _and_ boil. He wasn’t sure what to think about it.

But alas, here he was, stopping the ‘bad guys’, saving little kids, doing the job of the police. It was difficult to comprehend, but the world needed little guys like him as much as they needed big-players like the Avengers.

* * *

 

_Ravencroft Institute ,Present Day_

Harry stared into the grimy mirror and something else entirely leered back at him. Harry grimaced at the sight; his skin was still mottled and had a sickly green tinge. His eyes were still blood-shot and the veins upon his forehead were bulging out horrifically, a constant reminder of his less-than stellar state. Harry brushed down his fringe self-consciously, wanting to obscure the veins completely from his sight. His hair was definitely long enough to hide it away successfully, something which made Harry’s shoulders seem that much less weighed down.

The serum did have its benefits of course. Harry felt so much _stronger_ and quite able-bodied to tear out a man’s throat with his bare hands if he so wished. The thought made his hands twitch violently and his entire body shudder in dark hunger. Just how many men had crossed him? Menken, the Oscorp board, Peter – Harry stopped. A scowl flitted across his face. Yes, Peter could die first. Harry looked very much forward to it. It was Peter’s fault that Harry was in here, that Harry was reliant on the serum, that Harry hadn’t been cured of the ‘Osborn curse’. Oh yes, Peter’s death would not be pleasant – not for Peter at least. Harry’s hands furled and unfurled as his dark thoughts consumed him.

“Stand facing the wall. Don’t make any sudden movements or we _will_ shoot you. We’re just going to put your jacket on, Mr. Osborn.”

Oh, it was that time of day again. Every morning the guards would come in to buckle Harry into his strait-jacket. He rolled his eyes and obeyed the guard’s orders. It was just protocol of course. The jacket was a nuisance, but no good would come to Harry if he disobeyed. He knew how to handle a hierarchy much better than that. That was _life_ after all. Harry let the guards jostle him as they placed the jacket over his head, locking the buckles roughly. The treatment wasn’t that rough; the guards knew of his influence – he was an Osborn, after all - and still had a certain level of respect for him.

Harry’s face split into a mocking grin, his voice sickly sweet, “Oh, thank you ever so much.”

The guards exchanged disturbed glances and promptly left the room. Harry sat down again to face the mirror, glaring at his hideous reflection. He was glad for the peace and quiet, though it did get maddening sometimes. Harry closed his eyes, basking in the tranquility.

“Mr. Osborn, you have a visitor.” A guard called out.

Harry’s eyes snapped open irritably. He had been enjoying himself, he sighed. He didn’t have to turn around to know that the man who had just entered his cell was Gustav Fiers. Harry didn’t have any other visitors; no one wanted to see the mad Osborn heir.

“Good morning, Harry.”

Fiers’ steps were well-paced and quiet as he crossed the room. He had a chair in one hand, a briefcase tucked under one arm, and a metal tray in the other hand. He carefully handed the metal tray to the young heir and sat down in the chair. Harry stared down at his breakfast and found it to be simple as usual: today was French toast, juice, milk, cereal and a bowl of sliced fruit. Usually the guards would bring his breakfast in but Fiers had taken the tray in instead to save the guards the trip. He knew that Harry did not like too many visitors in one day. And if Harry was in a good mood, then their conversations would flow in a much _nicer_ way.

Harry gingerly tore the French toast into bite-sized pieces and began to pop them into his mouth – a habit that hadn’t quite gone away despite his braces having been absent for nearly four years. Fiers placed his briefcase at his feet quietly.

“And a good morning to you, Fiers. What brings you here into my less-than humble abode?”

Fiers smiled casually, “Well, I just wanted to update you on the progress we’ve been making outside in the big, bad world.”

Harry swallowed, “…and?”

Fiers’ brow furrowed slightly, “Well, bad news first. We haven’t been able to locate Max Dillon a.k.a Electro. We scoured the power grid but all we found was his power scale. We suspect his encounter with Spider-Man was fatal.”

Harry’s pale eyes were downcast, “That is a disappointment. Max was a passionate and intelligent personality, if not an eccentric one. His loss has taken quite the blow to our plans, I imagine.”

Fiers shook his head in amusement, “Quite the opposite. Dillon may have possessed all these qualities you say he did, but he’s sounds much like the many dangerous creatures I’ve encountered in my travels. No, we’ll be just fine, I imagine. I’ve already contacted The Hunter and his friend, Chameleon. Vulture has already signed on, and Rhino is at this very moment loyally carrying out his duties. Our fifth candidate is with Rhino, seeking to recruit our sixth man, Connors.”

Harry looked up from behind his bangs, his curiosity aroused, “…our fifth?”

Fiers smiled, baring his white teeth, “A very talented young woman, I’m sure. She was just so willing to test out one of our serums. Seemed so determined to find work.”Fiers paused and looked directly at Harry, his brow quirked in amusement, “and I _do_ believe she used to work with you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped in realisation, _“What?”_

* * *

 

_Ryker’s Island, Present Day_

Curt Conner’s cell was a dark, damp room with little amenities. Connors had not been surprised when he’d first been escorted into his new ‘home’. He definitely hadn’t been expecting a hotel, or even a scummy motel. But what he did have was enough: a simple bed, a small desk, and lavatory facilities. The darkness was something that you became use to, after a while. His trips in the exercise yard didn’t provide him with enough of the sunlight that he craved so much – frighteningly so when he went into relapse – but he was still happy to be able to go outside at all. Connors had curled up in his bunk, ready to settle down for the night. He was eager for the sweet embrace of sleep; the Lizard ‘thoughts’ had only just settled down within the past month, meaning that he’d finally been able to sleep with some comfort. The Lizard ‘thoughts’ were lessening every day and the nightmares were less frequent, but Connors knew in his heart that those would never truly leave him. How could he forget the blood, such crimson warm blood, soaking his cold scaly hands?

Connors face screwed up in anguish, he hated to think on it at all. He attempted to clear his head and clutched the sheets tightly. The bunk itself wasn’t first-class bedding, but it sure was good enough for Connors; he’d torn the last one to pieces in one of his Lizard relapses and had honestly felt lucky to get a new mattress at all. The guards had been very displeased; Connors had heard them muttering about the awful clean-up job as they escorted him back into the suffocating room that was ‘home’ to him. But it was no less than he deserved.

A sharp knock broke the stony silence of the cell and Connors eyes snapped open. The knock sounded again and Connors scrambled to sit up. The guards didn't knock, they _thumped_ at the door. Like Connors was a beast that needs to be roused with a trumpet fare. Connors didn’t call out to his visitor and instead merely sat in guarded anticipation. He grasped his knees tightly and ignored the cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck. Who on earth could it be?

The door swung open abruptly, the hinges squeaking painfully, his visitor apparently having gotten impatient of waiting for a response. To his surprise a young woman with sleek black hair and wearing a too-big guard-uniform was standing at the doorway. Connors gawked, _what’s going on?_

The young woman smiled a strange smile – there was no _warmth_ to it. Just a detached sort of friendliness, nothing more. She walks in, no fear in her expression, and then Connors takes note of the metal tray that she is holding. It was past dinner-call, Connors had already eaten. She placed the tray on his desk gently and he realized that what she brought him certainly wasn’t food.

“Dr. Connors, my name is Felicia Hardy. I’m here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Osborn.”

Connors laughed uneasily, “Norman Osborn is dead. Even in prison we know these things.”

Felicia shook her head, that same eerie smile upon her face, “You’re not wrong, doctor. No, I work for _Harry Osborn_. He’s quite the fan of your work.”

Connors smile dropped off of his face. The only thing he knew of Harry Osborn was that he had been best friends with Peter Parker. Connors remembered having dinner at the Parker’s house a good few times and almost every time without fail, young Harry Osborn had been there too. More often than not, causing a ruckus along with Peter as the two streaked around the house playing goodness knows what. What mattered, Connors thought, was whether Harry Osborn was more alike Norman Osborn or the late Mrs. Osborn. Unfortunately, by the impression he was receiving – this Felicia girl breaking into his cell quite illegally, ‘The Gentleman’ leering at him months earlier and ranting about Peter – Harry Osborn appeared to take after his father.

“Ms. Hardy,” Connors said slowly, his guard undoubtedly up, “Just why exactly are you here?”

Felicia pressed her clean, well-manicured hands together and smiled down at Connors, her blue eyes gleaming in the little spread of moonlight that had managed to find its way through the tiny window.

“You’re well informed in the subject of cross-species genetics, doctor. Surely you know of the revolutionary potential that it contains? It feels insulting to even ask you that.”

Connors nodded, as Felicia went on, “My employer is very interested in your work. He knows all about the spectacular results that your own Lizard serum produced, as well as the less spectacular results. Mr. Osborn wants you to _improve_ upon your results. He can recognize the potential of your work and he wants to fund your research, doctor.”

Connors’ brow furrowed, “And to what end, Ms. Hardy, to what end?”

Felicia smiled softly, “Firstly, to cure Mr. Osborn. He’s dying, you see, and only you can save him. But ultimately, we want to change the world, Dr. Connors. We want to see your arm restored, your wife’s cancer obliterated-“

“Millions of lives changed, I know.” Connors finished bluntly.

“Then you know why I’m here, don’t you?”

Connors gripped the bridge of his nose and sighed, “The question, Ms. Hardy, is whether or not ‘Mr. Osborn’ wants me, or the Lizard.”

Felicia smiled, “I don’t see why the two are mutually exclusive, doctor.”

“I already spoke to that man, ‘The Gentleman’ he called himself. The Lizard is _dangerous_ , a force of pure destruction. What makes you think I’ve changed my mind since then?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that,” Felicia said smoothly, and stood back, “because, Dr. Connors, I am the product of the new serum.”

Felicia extended her hand outward and to Connor’s awe and horror, her nails slowly transformed into sharp and unforgiving claws in a way that was distantly reminiscent of Logan Howlett’s mutant ability. Her hand suddenly lashed out against the wall and a shower of dust rained down upon the floor. When it had cleared, a large gaping hole in the concrete was made visible. Connors was utterly transfixed.

“I have more tricks up my sleeve than that. For instance, this cell is quite dark but I can see you perfectly well.”

Connors swallowed, “But what are the side-effects?”

Felicia’s nose wrinkled, “Nothing drastic, thankfully. Unfortunately, this is just a prototype that was coded to me specifically, and we need someone with your abilities to generalize it.”

Connors eyes widened in shock, “T-that was my serum wasn’t it? Who coded it to your DNA?!”

Felicia stepped back in surprise; Connors had leapt to his feet in rage. Felicia quickly recovered and smiled coyly, “Now, now, Connors. That would be telling. I don’t even know whether or not you want to help my cause or not.”

Connors sat down again and stared at the floor. He had already dealt with Oscorp before and even now he was still unclear of the corporation’s dark intentions. His primary goal – at least in the company’s intentions – had been to find a cure for Norman Osborn’s hereditary disease. His own personal goals had been to restore his own arm – such a _desperate_ need – and to restore the lives of millions of others who had been disabled or crippled by disease or otherwise. Connor’s heart tugged painfully within his chest – he wante to save his wife, sweet Martha. He wanted to see his son. All of this had been for them! He wanted to have his family back, he wanted his wife, and he _wanted_ his damned arm! Fate had a twisted sense of humor, delivering pain into the lives of those who deserved it least of all.

But what of Oscorp’s goals? Dr. Ratha had never actually _divulged_ anything other than the company’s alleged goals to Connors. But Connors suspected that whatever their intentions were, that they had been twisted enough to drive away Richard Parker – damn saint-like Richard Parker. And just when they had been so close – _so very close_ – to finding that damn solution. And yet here was a by-product of one of Oscorp’s twisted projects standing right in front of him, and it was very near to perfection.

Connors slowly raised his eyes to coolly combat Felicia’s own, “What’s the plan, Ms. Hardy?”

* * *

 

_Osborn Mansion, About 13 Years Prior_

Peter gingerly pried the door open and shuffled into the darkened room. Peter blinked at the black, black room, quite unable to see anything, not even the tip of his nose. Peter swatted at the air slowly, trying to find his bearings as he let his feet gingerly step across the lush carpet. Luckily, the Osborn heir, unlike Peter, was in the habit of keeping his room clean so Peter wasn’t given any nasty surprises such as a stray LEGO piece or a hardcover book.

“Who the heck are you?” a young angry voice shot out.

Peter stumbled forward in surprise and he cried out as his foot connected with a piece of furniture. Peter became aware that the supposed Osborn heir was sniffling. Peter only made that noise when he was upset or when his Mother insisted that he eat all of Aunt May’s homemade meatloaf, so he immediately sensed that the Osborn heir was not happy at all. Hopping around, Peter shot back, “Peter Parker is my name.”

The sniffles were silenced as a high-pitched giggle hit Peter’s ears. Peter decided that he liked that sound very much; it reminded him of his Aunty May’s beautiful wind-chime at her house.

“Your name sounds funny. _Puhter – Puhker!”_

The voice wasn’t mean, Peter realised. It was playful and admiring. Peter was chuffed, “Y-yeah. My Mother says that that’s called “amiteration” or something.”

The tittering continued and Peter could feel his cheeks growing hot. Only his Mother and Dad thought he was that funny – after all, no one at school laughed at his jokes, they only laughed at _him_. Peter decided that he liked it when people laughed with him and so, confidence overflowing, he ventured: “What’s your name?”

The sniffles returned abruptly and Peter’s shoulders drooped in disappointment. Well, the Osborn heir would never want to talk to him now! Peter shook his head furiously, no! No, he wouldn’t give up. Mother had told him to make friends and this Osborn heir clearly needed a friend. Peter strained his perky ears and steadily made his way, hopefully, to the source of the wretched crying. Slowly, Peter’s eyes adjusted to the horrific darkness around him and he could just make out the outlines of a heavy oak desk. The sounds were reverberating around him and Peter could sense that the Osborn heir was likely underneath the desk, in the hollow where the chair should be. So Peter dropped onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the Osborn heir, all too aware of the dangers of carpet burn. He halted in front of the desk.

“What’s your name?” Peter said again, a little more softly this time.

“H-Harry,” a tear-wracked voice managed, “Just Harry.”

“That’s an awesome name,” Peter gaped, “You could be _Harry Potter_ and you wouldn’t even know it. I’d love to have magic powers, wouldn’t you?”

Harry made an odd choking sound that Peter interpreted as him trying to laugh and cry at the same time. Peter smiled, bearing his crooked teeth, “Well Harry, do you want to play wizards? You can be Harry Potter, of course, and I’ll be Merlin. I like Merlin ‘cus he’s really smart.”

Peter outstretched his hand and was surprised to find Harry’s tiny, clean hand already outstretched towards him. Peter took it of course.

When Harry turned the lights of his room on, Peter stared at his new friend with interest. Harry’s eyes were an icy blue and seemed to bite at Peter, and to be honest they made Peter uneasy. They weren’t like Mr. Osborn’s eyes at all; Mr. Osborn had reptilian-like dead eyes that made Peter want to cower behind a chair. Harry’s eyes, however, seemed to glow and were almost like something from out of space or another world. The ethereal image was ruined quickly: Harry’s nose was very red and the whites of his eyes were blood-shot from his obvious crying, but Peter was pleased to note that Harry was shorter than him by an inch at least. Peter wiped his sleeve along Harry’s nose and Harry squeaked in disgust:

“Gross!” Peter sniffed, “Your nose was messy, just lending you a hand – er – sleeve.”

“Gosh, you’re tall!” Harry gawked up at Peter, his pale eyes widening substantially and forgetting his previous grievance, “I wish I was as tall as you.”

Peter grinned in pride, “Mum says I could get to be as tall as my second-cousin Bradley. He’s like this tall.”

Peter stood on his tip-toes and extended his free arm to illustrate as Harry’s hot hand was still tightly engulfed in Peter’s own pudgy hand. Harry giggled again, his pale eyes lighting up. For once in his life, Peter had made a real friend, a friend who laughed at his jokes and seemed to like him too. Peter beamed at Harry, who smiled widely in response.


	2. No Day Off for Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter’s lunch does not go to plan, Clint’s holiday starts badly, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has awful timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> De-briefing:  
> Clint Barton – Hawkeye  
> Emil Blonsky – Abomination, a Russian-born British Royal Marines-trained officer working as a liaison with the US Armed Forces and a volunteer test subject of the Vita Ray serum (unknown if derived from Captain America’s or Red Skull’s super-soldier serum) (Marvel Movies Wiki, 2014)  
> Aleksei Systevich – one of the many aliases for The Rhino  
> Curt Connors – The Lizard  
> Felicia Hardy – Black Cat  
> Jasper Sitwell - an espionage agent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. (Marvel Movies Wiki, 2014)

_The Underground, Present Day_

Clinton Barton cracked one blue eye slowly, surveying his surroundings sleepily. The intercom sounded nasally and Barton sighed angrily; there were still five or so stops until he was to get off this blasted metal chute. The train rocked steadily like a cradle and Clint hunched further into himself. An old lady sitting across from him gave him a disdainful look, muttering about ‘filthy feet’. Clint pulled a face at her, to which she snorted and turned away. People really should pay more respect to traumatized alien-brawlers. _Especially_ to the ones that had been brain-washed. _Old hag._

Clint pulled his hood up and his eyes slid shut, the gentle swaying of the train lulling him into a half-sleep. He couldn’t wait to get back to the tower. Hopefully Nat would want to get take-out with him or something. That would be nice. Anything to avoid bloody Stark for the night. That guy never shut up and was snarky as fuck. Kind of like he was…well damn. Well, fuck Stark anyway. Clint day-dreamed lazily, relieved that his assignment down in Rio was finished. Bloody Abomination had gone on the loose again. Thank god for Bruce, otherwise they would have been utterly screwed. Bruce wasn’t pleased that he’d been pulled out for an aggressive role rather than any scientific contributions. Good thing he was safely back in the tower, surrounded by his sciencey crap.

Clint’s peaceful sleep was suddenly disturbed by a commotion further along the carriage. Clint growled and turned to see what the _hell_ was going on. A small group of people were surrounding a man who was sitting down. A tired pregnant woman was standing nearby, looking incredibly flustered.

“Sit up, asshole! This lady is _pregnant.”_

“Yeah, haven’t you got any respect?”

“Honestly, man, sit up! She obviously needs to sit down more than you do!”

Clint rolled his eyes. _Ugh, more idiots who didn’t have any train etiquette. Firstly, shouting was not cool. Secondly, not letting that lady sit down was even douchier._ The lady seemed disturbed by the amount of attention as the small crowd continued to hustle the man. Clint would have returned to his nap if it wasn’t for the strange mutterings that suddenly elicited from the sitting man’s mouth. He began to quiver violently and rocked back and forth on the seat. Clint sat up in alarm. The dude was convulsing just like Blonsky had before he’d gone haywire, and just like Bruce did whenever he transformed into the big guy. The crowd all took a step back as the man began to shout hysterically, sweat pouring down his harried face.

“GET BACK. GET AWAY FROM ME.”

Clint ran over and began to haul the people by their limbs as far away as possible from the trembling man, toppling some of them over in his efforts to get them away.

“Get away from that guy, _he could be armed_. Can’t you hear me, clear the carriage _now!”_

“LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE.”

The man veered over and collapsed onto the floor of the carriage and howled. The train came to a sudden grinding stop, as the train arrived at the stop and due to the actions of the driver who had been alerted by a passenger. People clambered for the doors in their efforts to escape the carriage, most of them leaving their belongings behind. Clint stood his ground and pushed people out of the carriage and onto the platform. Meanwhile, the man’s limbs popped with a series of sickening _cracks_ and his skin began to harden and scale up. All of the people had cleared the station in their panic, running to the upper levels of the grand station. Clint looked back upon the man. He could no longer be called such.

Still convulsing upon the floor was a giant _lizard_ , his tail swaying erratically as he continued to groan. The beast began to clamber to his feet, his claws scraping the floor of the carriage in ear-shattering strokes. Clint stumbled back and made for the door, feeling completely out of his depth. Abomination could be handled from a distance, with Bruce Banner on hand. This thing, whatever the fuck it was, well it wasn’t as big as Abomination, but without Hulk by your side, it felt utterly daunting. Clint reached for his bow and found it to be missing. His eyes widened dramatically.

_“Oh, shit.”_

* * *

 

_Ryker’s Island, Three Days Earlier_

Dr. Curt Connors walked briskly to keep up with Felicia Hardy, who was scaling the narrow corridors of Ryker’s sprucely. Her heavy boots made little noise, much to Connors’ curiosity. They had made their way to the upper levels, albeit slowly as Felicia had singly-handedly taken out every single of the guards on their way. It had been both spectacular and frightening to watch as she had weaved her way around them and struck like a hissing cobra.

Felicia suddenly halted; Connors quickly did the same to avoid a collision. Her dark eyes narrowed as she stared out the filthy window. Connors leaned over to see that she was eyeing up the large courtyard, the bricks sodden from the rain and the lights glinting through the drizzly haze.

“Where is he…?”

Connors was perturbed, “Who is _he?”_

Felicia ignored him. Suddenly, an explosion of dust and large slabs of concrete showered the stone yard. Connors’ ears rang and he felt his vision turn hazy, the obnoxious sound damaging his senses. Felicia was not immune either; she had doubled over and was clutching her ears, an expression of anger upon her face. Connors could just make out a hulking metal contraption that had seemingly been catapaulted into the courtyard. The only evidence that it hadn’t was the gaping hole in the stone wall that the suit had apparently charged its way through. The sirens of the other guard towers began to blare deafeningly and the shouting of the guards could just be heard through the chaos.

“Bloody Systevich.” Felicia growled.

She grabbed Connors arm began to drag him back down the plunging staircase.

They managed to reach the courtyard amidst the chaos that was the shouting prisoners, frantic guards, wailing sirens and utter destruction. ‘Systevich’ was jumping from side to side in the court-yard, yelling Russian expletives at anyone stupid enough to approach him.

Felicia was livid, “Systevich! Stop fooling around. I’ve got Connors.”

Systevich stopped abruptly and sneered down at the disheveled-looking pair.

“No one talks like that to the Rhino and lives!”

Felicia growled at him challengingly, claws extending.

“If you mess this up, Harry won’t pay you, you moron! Go back to herding those guards around!”

Systevich paled and listened to the angry young woman. He stoppered his large feet from kicking up any more debris and became quite still. He bowed his head agitatedly before sprinting off, the large suit clanking and whistling metallically. The horrified screams of prisoners and guards could be heard as the hulking suit pursued them wildly, like a cat toying with some poor little mammal. Felicia looked on, features steely. She wasn’t enjoying this.

Connors looked at the young woman in front of him. She was powerful and determined, fit as a soldier. No foreseeable health issues, probably. Then Connors stared at the syringe that she was holding. The contents were bright green. He knew what that serum was; he’d invented it after all. That syringe was meant for him, that’s why she was here.

Connors stared down at his missing limb. What he wouldn’t give to have his arm back…what he wouldn’t give to see others like him have their lives restored to them. What were Harry Osborn and ‘The Gentleman’ concocting? Was this what was to become of his research? To let it fall into the hands of powerful and corrupt men? _No._

Connors roughly grabbed Felicia’s arm and dislocated her elbow. Felicia howled in anguish and searing pain, promptly relinquishing her iron grip on the syringe. She stumbled back in shock, only keeping her feet due to the agility that the serum leant her. With that, Connors violently plunged the syringe into his arm, fumbling slightly. Connors choked and bit down on his tongue as the contents of the syringe drained into his system and congested his veins. Blood filled his mouth, the little amount of rustic liquid escaping his lips and bubbling down his chin.

Connors felt his form mutate, the painful process taking its venomous hold. His arms erupted with gritty scaling, his impenetrable armor. He let out a wailing roar. Connors was gone; instead it was The Lizard who swung around the courtyard wildly, taking in his surroundings. The Rhino was still distracted, too amused by the suffering of the people around him. The Lizard quickly figured out the best escape route and made off into the night. As he ran, strange thoughts began to pervade his mind: he could see a sickly woman lying in a hospital bed; an isolated young man by her bedside; another young man with very messy hair staring at him admirably, reminding him vaguely of a long lost friend who had been consumed by flame. The Lizard growled – he did not know these people, they were _Connors’_ people, not his. But he ran in their distinct direction none-the-less. Anyone that Connors knew intimately would be harmless, that was Connors’ way after all.

The Lizard eventually reached the edge of the island, and leant over the precipice, staring down at the turbulent waters below. The lights of the mainland glinted heavily on the horizon. It would be quite the swim, but the Lizard could do anything and everything. He was unstoppable. So he fearlessly leapt from the cliff and into the dark, raging waters below, the waves quickly drowning his large form from view.

* * *

 

Felicia wearily spoke into the communicator at her wrist, “Fiers.”

_“Yes?”_

“The Lizard has gone rogue, tell Harry I’m sor-“

_“This is an unwelcome setback. Come in immediately.”_

Felicia’s shoulders shook angrily, her facial features twisting, “Yes, sir.”

Systevich stared dumbly at the floor, unsure of whether to pull the Black Cat away from where she was punching the wall with her good arm. He sneezed loudly as the dust she kicked up hit his nose.

* * *

 

_A Stray Hotdog Stand on the Manhattan Streets, Present Day_

Peter handed the hotdog stand guy some cash and took his hotdog with the lot with relief. Crime-fighting was tiring and wore him out drastically. The guy at the stand looked shocked that Spider-Man had just ordered a hotdog, but managed to sober up enough to wave at the cash dismissively.

“No, for you, Spider-Man, it’s free! Free!”

Peter frowned and shook his head, “No, I insist, man! I can pay for it just fine and we’ve all got to make a living right?”

The man looked troubled, “No! Free!”

Peter gave up and ate his hot-dog begrudgingly. But not _too_ begrudgingly. It tasted damn good, after all. However, his good mood was instantly shattered as the walkie-talkie on his web-shooters went off.

_“Attention all units! We’ve got reports of a man-lizard tearing up the underground! I repeat all units, a man-lizard!”_

Peter dropped his particularly superb hot-dog onto the gritty pavement.

* * *

 

Peter vaulted over the police-barrier that had been set-up and ran down the steps into the subway station. The station was trashed, to put it bluntly. The brickwork had exploded in several areas on both the pillars and the walls, the vending machines had been toppled over – some even thrown – and the water pipes had exploded and flooded the floor. The hiss of the water spraying and the dust from the debris still hadn’t settled.

Peter hurriedly surveyed the area for any civilians, keeping in mind the presence of the Lizard as he carefully and quietly stepped around the scattered wreckage. A sudden groan sounded and Peter jumped in shock. He then berated himself as his ‘spidey-sense’ hadn’t gone off and the groan was clearly human. Peter’s eyes narrowed and flickered to the source of the sound. Quickly, he spotted a disheveled man with dirty-blond hair, pinned under a small heap of rubble. The man coughed and raised his head as he heard Peter’s approaching foot-steps. Peter would recognize that face anywhere – he secretly hero-worshipped it.

 _“Hawkeye?”_ Peter gaped, wincing slightly at the shocked squeak that elicited from his mouth.

“No, it’s _Legolas.”_ Clint snapped, trying to clamber out from under the rubble.

Peter shrugged and ran over to help free the famed Avenger from the remains of brickwork and wooden seating. Clint groaned and dusted himself off. He swore as he moved his leg and doubled over in pain. Peter steadied him.

 _“Shit_ , I’ve rolled my ankle or something…”

“Hey, at least you didn’t break your arms, Mr. Archer.”

Clint narrowed his eyes but shrugged regardless, _“True_. But anyway, where’s the back-up? Have you got any weapons? That lizard dude is skulking around here…I only just managed to throw him off, but we can’t let him escape!”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh…I guess I’m the back-up. The police are still arriving and a few of them have set up some barriers but apa-“

 _“What?!_ Where the fuck is S.H.I.E.L.D., kid?”

“What’s a ‘shield’?”

Clint buried his face in his hands and swore loudly.

 _“They sent me a freak in a leotard?”_ Clint muttered darkly, impressive arms folded.

Peter glared at him angrily, to no avail due to his mask, “Hey, let’s get back to the task on hand, alright? No need for insults, dude.”

Clint bit back a retort and walked alongside Peter, limping slightly.

“And you _don’t_ have any weapons on you?”

Peter shook his head and lifted up his wrist and indicated to his web-shooters, “Just these babies.”

Clint’s eye twitched.

The two began to work their way across the debris-covered station, jumping at the occasional hiss of the broken pipes or the bubble of the water spewing over the surface of the tiles. Clint had picked up a piece of broken pipe and was brandishing it like a sword, Peter would have smiled but he was too overcome by the present situation. What was Connors’ doing? The last time he had seen him, Connors had felt justified in his own sentence, that jail was no-less than he deserved. Everything had been very hushed up, so Peter hadn’t hear much at all from Connors – who was like a mentor of sorts to him and a very rare connection to his parents.

So _why_ had Connors willingly escaped the prison and why had he turned into the Lizard? With no access to the serum for extended periods of time, the effects should have worn off. Well, they had to find him, no matter the reason.

“I’ll go scope the edge of the tunnels, you can keep watch here.”

Peter swung down to the face of the tunnel, ignoring Clint’s protests.

Peter scaled the wreckage, avoiding the sharp glass and jagged ruins. He halted in front of the sub-way tunnel and shot many a web to cover the entrance. That would stall the Lizard and let them know whether or not he was trying to slip past them or not.

_“Kid!”_

Peter turned at the sound of Clint’s alarmed yell and braced himself. He felt incredibly small as the leering form of the Lizard approached him steadily.

 _“Peter Parker,”_ The Lizard hissed, his muscles stiffening as he glowered at the web-slinger blocking his escape route; “Get out of the way, little spider, if you want to live.”

Peter shook his head and folded his arms, “Nope. You gotta stop right there, Dr. Connors. We can’t have you terrorizing anymore people, now can we? How about you come with us and we’ll make sure you cell is extra comfortable this time round?”

“You don’t understand!” The Lizard seethed, claws flexing, “Connors doesn’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t let me go, I’ll have to!”

The Lizard turned quickly to face Clint, “You there – _archer_ \- I will be just like your friend Banner. I’ll leave and you’ll never hear from me again…let me go!”

Clint raised an eyebrow and wielded the pipe challengingly.

“No, _Ryker’s_ is the place for you, Lizard. You’ve killed a lot of people; I _know_ ‘cus I read the file. We can’t just let you go.”

_“So be it.”_

The Lizard swiped angrily at Peter, flinging his tail at Clint. Both dodged the aggressive attack with expected expertise. Clint landed clumsily, unused to the burden of his limp leg, whilst Peter had sprung onto the ceiling to stare down at his opponent.

Clint spun the pipe goadingly, grinning cockily at the Lizard. Peter shot a web at the Lizard, which he dodged. Clint took advantage and charged, pipe in hand. He swung the pipe at the Lizard like a sword and managed to edge the reptilian away from the most immediate exit. The Lizard howled in anguish at Clint’s incessant attacks, the pipe _thwacking_ him most annoyingly. Peter began to reinforce the tunnel with more webs, and even began to throw wreckage at the sticky mass of bio-cable to cover more area. The Lizard hissed and suddenly whipped his tail at Clint. The archer was flung back, the pipe flying off into the cavernous mess – lost forever. Clint landed roughly on the ground and convulsed in shocks of pain, gasping for breath and scraping the bricks beneath his fingers.

The Lizard turned to face Peter, already disinterested in his seemingly downed opponent. The Lizard charged at Peter who crawled fiercely along the walls all whilst dodging the brunt of the Lizard’s tail.

The two sparred quite unevenly, the Lizard overwhelming Peter with his size and power, whilst Peter in turn overwhelmed the beast with his quick movements and feisty attacks, neither quite managing to overpower the other.

Their battle was not to be decided, however, as the webbing suddenly exploded in a flash of white light and harsh smoke, the explosion downing both Peter and Connors. Peter cried out as the explosion sent him flying backwards and his ears rang loudly. Bits of wreckage showered down upon him and Peter could feel the glass that he had thrown at the web beforehand slice his skin unforgivingly. Already, his healing factor was acting and Peter managed to sit up on his elbows, the world around him still quite uneven and hazy.

“Holy shit!” Clint barked, falling back and landing in the water; _“What the fuck is that?”_

Peter could see Clint sprawled quite miserably on the floor but stumbled back as he turned to see what had incited the archer’s alarm.

 _“Harry?!”_ Peter yelped.

 _“Spider-Man,”_ Harry Osborn spat, his clear eyes hardened and his body took on a more aggressive stance.

Harry was back on his nightmarish glider, the green strobes illuminating the dark tunnel eerily. Harry, however, was looking considerably healthier than their last meeting. His skin wasn’t as sallow and his features had relaxed. Peter took notice of the way that Harry’s fingers twitched abruptly as Peter addressed him so familiarly.

Harry scowled at him, _“Don’t call me that_. Just get out of the way, both of you. I don’t have time to deal with scum like you.”

Clint’s jaw dropped and he pointed at Harry, his arm waving wildly for emphasis.

“Do you _know_ this creep?”

Peter didn’t answer, still too shocked by Harry’s sudden arrival.

Harry ignored them and swiveled the glider around to face the Lizard, the metal grinding together harshly and the lights casting agitated beams around the tunnel.

“So I take it you declined my most generous invitation, then?” he said coolly, his Osborn-charm beginning to seep through into his voice. Peter would recognize it anywhere; Harry had stooped as low as to use it on him, not once but a few times. And he’d be damned if it didn’t work every single time.

The Lizard perked up and growled, “Invitation?”

Harry nodded his head gracefully, his eyes wide and inviting, “Yes. I do believe my PA Felicia gave you the basic run-down. You’d be well-paid and well-taken care of, of course. That goes for the rest of your _family_ as well.”

The Lizard paused and stared up at the armor-clad Osborn heir. Peter could see the internal battle waging inside the Lizard’s head – Connors trying to convince the Lizard of the humane path and the Lizard advocating destruction -, it had happened during their own battle after all. The Lizard clutched his scaly head, panting harshly and baring his yellowed teeth. His eyes were wholly unfocused and he began to sway sporadically.

* * *

 

_His own thoughts and Connors began to slowly intertwine within his head. The sickly lady in the shockingly-white room appeared at the forefront, and then the others all in turn. The Lizard was confused by the images and the wrenching emotions clawing at him. They weren’t his emotions, they were Connors’. But weren’t they one and the same? Didn’t they want the same things?_

_But then the gangly boy appeared too and another overwhelming feeling overcame The Lizard. For some reason, he had to protect this boy. Connors’ knew why, but the Lizard didn’t._

* * *

 

The Lizard suddenly let out a terrible howl and swung his claws at Harry. Harry swore loudly and moved upwards out of The Lizard’s horrific grasp, the glider smoothly following him.

 _“Don’t agitate him, Harry!”_ Peter yelled hoarsely.

Harry ignored him adamantly, fingers twitching tellingly, his fierce eyes fixed upon the Lizard’s writhing form. The two circled each other and Peter watched their moves carefully, fearful for Connors and fearful for the young man who he hoped still bore some semblance to Harry. Hawkeye watched them too and began to clamber to his feet, heavy rock in hand. Peter shoved Hawkeye to the side, none-too-gently.

 _“You_ can’t walk properly so you stay out of this!”

Clint swore at him loudly, shaking his fist from where he had fallen. The Lizard’s eyes flickered back and forth to the two gaping tunnels of the subway, obviously deciding which one to escape down. Harry’s grin was wild and wholly unnatural as he glared challengingly at the hulking reptilian.

“Don’t you want your arm back? Your _real_ arm, not that shoddy excuse of a substitute.”

_“No.”_

The Lizard howled again and flicked his powerful tail. It connected furiously with the brickworks, sending a shower of mortar, bricks and dust down in front of him. Harry lunged backwards on the glider, his face twisting vehemently. When the dust began to clear, it became apparent that the Lizard had gone. Harry spat on the ground.

“Run you filthy creature! The Six will find you soon enough!”

“Harry, stop this! Whatever you’re doing, let Connors go!”

Harry turned his head to face Peter, his features twitching furiously. “Didn’t I tell you _not to call me that?_ The next time you speak, I’ll tear out your tongue.”

A small blinking object that was beeping furiously object came hurtling down at Peter. Peter swore and dove in the other direction. The object exploded and more debris came shattering down upon the floor, an explosion of fire preceding it. Peter’s ears were ringing painfully and he clutched them in agony. He shuffled along the floor to distance himself from the noise.

Meanwhile, Clint had gotten to his feet. He glared at Harry, _“Oi,_ fuckface!”

Harry spun around in surprise and was promptly thrown from his glider as the rock that Clint had thrown connected with his gut forcefully. Harry hit the dirt of the subway floor, and pain erupted all over his lithe body.

Peter ran over, having recovered, and aimed his web-shooters intently at Harry. Harry glared poisonously at Peter, his clear eyes narrowed dazedly.

“C’mon Harry. _This isn’t you_. Stop this.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed maniacally, tears streaming down his grimy face.

 _“This isn’t me?!_ You don’t know anything about me, Parker! The Harry you know is dead! Get that through your shockingly thick skull. I want nothing more than to see you _bleed.”_

Peter approached him slowly; hands raised cautiously, “No, I _know_ this isn’t you.”

Harry wheezed in twisted amusement, clutching his stomach, _“Gosh_ , you’re thick. Can’t _begin_ to imagine how you pulled that Stacy chick in the first place…she must have been as thick as you I guess. How’s she doing?”

Harry paused, his lips forming a ‘o’ in faux horror.

 _“Oh, wait_ …ding, dong, _the bitch is dead.”_ Harry chanted, his fingers dancing in the air in a disturbingly jovial manner. Something within Peter snapped.

_“Shut up!”_

Peter grabbed Harry by his neck and threw him fiercely against the wall. Harry groaned in pain as his back hit the wall roughly and his head violently collided with the brickwork. He collapsed against the floor and struggled to regain his footing as his head spun haphazardly.

Peter strode towards Harry, determined to hurt him. Another bomb landed at Peter’s feet and he was thrown back abruptly. Peter gasped, clawing at the dirt.

Harry began to cackle, blood dripping down the side of his face.

“SHE’S DEAD. I KILLED HER. SHE’S NOT COMING BACK, YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF SCUM. Try to live with that!”

Peter stood up clumsily, anger blinding him. Roaring incoherently, he charged at Harry.

Harry unsheathed the dagger at his calf, sprung to his feet, and lunged. Peter dove to the right as Harry’s blade grazed his side. Blood spurted from the thin wound, but luckily Peter hadn’t been gutted which Harry had obviously been intending. Again, Harry swung the knife and again Peter avoided its lethal path.

Clint sat up and swore at Peter, “You little fuck-wit! _What do you think you’re doing?_ Stop letting him get the better of you and focus, you little shit!”

“At least I’m still in commission! You’re unarmed!” Peter snapped, dodging another swipe that nearly sent his intestines spilling out onto the filthy bricks.

Clint’s face turned purple.

“You try arguing with a giant fucking Lizard on your way home after you’ve been away on holiday to hell! It’s not my fault I arm myself modestly, kid, I didn’t expect that I’d have to waste all my bullets on a scaly jerk-scientist!”

“Don’t you know? I’m the _expert_ on trying to wrangle man-lizards! Oh, that’s right! None of you Avengers showed up to deal with that little problem, _most conveniently.”_

“We have bigger shit to deal with than crazy lizard men. Like crazy Latverian dictators and psycho alien gods. _Or both at the same time._ Plus, you haven’t faced man-lizards with _guns_. So until then, I’m the expert, you little shit.”

With that, Clint glowered and hurled a rock at Harry, who swore as the rock grazed his bare shoulder. Peter tackled Harry at the opportune moment. The two went sprawling into the dirt, limbs catching on the wreckage painfully as they tore at each other. Peter punched Harry in the face and Harry spat up blood, gritting his teeth in rage. The young heir kicked Peter in the chest and sent him tumbling over backwards, knocking the wind out of him.

Peter groaned and sat up just in time to see Harry straddle his glider awkwardly, burdened by his wounds. Clint continued to hurl wreckage at the blonde-haired fiend. Harry threw a bomb directly at the famed archer.

Peter’s web-fluid got to Clint first, however, and he threw Clint in the opposite direction as the bomb exploded. Smoke settled around them steadily and Harry, seizing his opportunity, directed the glider smoothly towards the tunnel exit. He turned briefly and levelled a spectacularly dark glare at Peter, “Expect to see me again, you pathetic worms.”

Peter’s chest tightened as he bore witness to Harry’s shocking blue eyes darken in utter hatred directed at him. Harry sped off on his glider and down the dark subway tunnel, swallowed by the darkness save for the green glinting lights of his glider. Clint groaned from where he had been thrown onto the harsh floor.

His face was stark white, “Was that a fucking _goblin_ that just totaled you? That’s embarrassing!”

“Says Legolas!” Peter spat, angry at himself, Hawkeye, and Harry. _And_ he was still hungry.

Clint’s smile was wry, “I’ve gotta hand it to you though, he’s a _handsome_ goblin.”

Peter tripped over a stray brick, spluttering something awful. Clint slapped him on the back and guffawed obnoxiously.

“Hey, are you guys alright?”

Peter and Clint looked over to see the subway filling with heavily armed men and women, a strange bird-like symbol emblazoned on their shoulders. Clint waved wearily at them, his burly arm swinging slowly.

"You’re late, you slackers. And we’re just fine.”

* * *

 

Peter and Clint were escorted by the agents to the staircase exiting the subway. Peter looked up to see a bald man wearing a bullet-proof vest over a neat pin-striped suit striding towards them.

“Agent Barton,”

“Sitwell,” Clint nodded at him, “The Lizard escaped. He retreated down the south tunnel. But that’s not all. Some sickly armed goon attacked us. Looks like a goblin.”

Agent Sitwell looked bewildered.

“That would be Harry Osborn.” Peter said quietly.

Sitwell turned to face Peter, “Spider-Man? What do you know about this?”

“The kid helped me tackle that lizard dude,” Clint said gruffly, folding his arms, “He knows that creepy goblin-kid too. _A little too well.”_

Sitwell paused and surveyed Peter critically. He then motioned to two other agents, who sprinted over at his beckoning. The two agents suddenly clasped Peter’s shoulders tightly. Sitwell stared up at Peter and flashed his badge at him.

“Peter Parker, I’m Agent Sitwell and I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve been looking for you for a while now. We need you to come with us and that’s not a request.”

* * *

 

_Special Projects Wing, Oscorp, Three Years Prior_

Felicia clutched the syringe tightly in her palm, sweat coiling around the glass. The serum inside was a hazardous yellow and seemed to move of its own accord.

“So if I take this, I’ll be able to protect Mr. Osborn?” she whispered, eyes entranced by the sluggish liquid threatening to escape the glass.

Gustav Fiers nodded in all seriousness and spoke honestly, “In some ways. You won’t be able to cure him of course, only one man can do that and he’s dead. But you can rest easy in that you can save him from more… _immediate dangers.”_

Felicia smiled sadly and nodded. _I wish I could do more for him._

“I owe Mr. Osborn everything. I’ll do anything to help him.”

Fiers smiled, “Good.”

He nodded and took the syringe from Felicia’s shaking hands. He took her arm gently and administered the shot, the bright serum slowly entering Felicia’s blood stream. Felicia’s face contorted in pain as the serum set her blood aflame and her flesh seemed to bubble. Felicia screamed and shook in the chair, sweat rolling down her skin.

Fiers held her neat hand tightly, pleased that everything was coming together so nicely.

 

 


	3. Friends; Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY on YFMATS...  
> Peter makes a come-back to hero-work, Harry and Fiers scheme in the background, Dr. Connors escapes prison and refuses to aid Harry, Hawkeye and Peter intercept the Lizard in the Underground and a fierce battle ensues, the Green Goblin and S.H.I.E.L.D. make an appearance and both Harry and Connors make an escape, Peter is brought in to S.H.I.E.L.D. for questioning.
> 
> AND NOW...  
> S.H.I.E.L.D. makes Peter an offer he can't possibly refuse, Harry makes some (not-so) pleasant friends, and Hawkeye is so done with this bullshit. Where the hell is Natasha when you need her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to you readers out there for this extraordinarily late update, however work had to take a priority during these past few months and it is difficult to find the motivation to write multi-chaptered fics. Such is life.  
> Hopefully I will have enough time to update more frequently and regularly.  
> To make up for it, I have uploaded TWO chapters today so enjoy!
> 
> De-briefing:  
> Agent Jasper Sitwell - an espionage agent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. (Marvel Movies Wiki, 2014)  
> Sergei Kravinoff – Kraven the Hunter  
> Gustav Fiers – ‘The Gentleman’

_Ravencroft Institute, Present Day_

Money was a strange and powerful force.

It could build and destroy nations, drive even the most righteous men mad for love of it, be both a comfort and a curse. Money, it seemed, had a grip hold on everything. Anyone and anything could be bought for the right price. That was what enabled the staff at Ravencroft to turn a blind eye to Fiers’ less-than-innocuous interactions with the impounded Osborn heir. Actions that had ironically enough resulted in millions of dollars worth of damage to the Manhattan’s subway system and Ryker’s Island.

Yes, money could buy you anything.

Such a philosophy was what Norman had taught him anyway. Of course, Norman had been absolutely right for the most part.

Men were _weak._

But then, Norman could have never anticipated _Spider-Man._ If he had, then he wouldn’t be six-feet under now would he (and Harry would not be stuck in this trash-pile of a building as he awaited his premature demise)? Spider-Man had not wanted a single coin. Not even to save his best friend. And wasn’t that the tragedy of it all?

Some men would do anything for money, and some for friendship. But Spider-Man would not succumb to either.

Harry was lynched from his whirlwind of thoughts by Fiers entering the room.

“The Hunter is here,” he announced smoothly.

Harry sat up a little straighter and restrained himself from staring too long at the behemoth of a man that was hulking beside Fiers. Harry was in awe of his muscular and bedraggled appearance, not to mention his towering height – he’d always had a soft spot for tall men after all.

“My name is Kraven. It would be my utmost pleasure to join your hunt.” Kraven smiled, revealing his white, eerily so, teeth. Harry forcefully ignored his enticing smile and nodded graciously.

“And you shall be rewarded well for doing so.” He said callously, nose in the air.

Kraven’s eyes gleamed, “My true pleasure comes from the hunt,” Harry’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly, “…but monetary reward has its benefits, of course.”

“Excellent,” Harry smirked, the corners of his mouth lilting flirtatiously, “Oh, and we have some small gifts for you. A token of our appreciation.”

Harry gestured to Fiers, who opened the large case upon the table. Fiers beckoned Kraven over and Harry took note of Kraven’s attractive swagger. He’d seen that swagger elsewhere, he was sure of it.

Kraven’s jaw dropped as he peered into the case, “Th-that’s an impressive arsenal, Mr. Osborn.”

Harry’s eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’m glad you think so, because they’re yours.”

Kraven grinned wildly, “Oh, and just what exactly am I hunting, Mr. Osborn?”

Harry shrugged and smiled amusingly, “Oh, nothing too outrageous. We’ve heard you’re particularly well informed on _reptiles,_ Kravinoff.”

* * *

 

_Parker Residence, Present Day_

Agent Sitwell had been too polite as he – well, the armed agents really – had escorted Peter back to Aunt May’s house. The drive there had been extremely quiet and strangely hilarious as he sat there in his garish costume surrounded by the hulking, dark agents. When they arrived, he was quickly pushed into one of Aunt May’s beloved dining table chairs that Uncle Ben – bless his soul - had made himself.

A tall man with an eye-patch donning a black leather coat – a strange choice of dress for this time of year - leered over Peter menacingly. He had an intimidating and austere presence that made Peter want to sit up straighter in his chair and robotically recite “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Mr. Parker, I’m Nick Fury. I’m a fan of the work you do here in Queens.”

Peter sat up straighter in the chair and bit his tongue, before choking out “R-really? Thanks, man – uh, sir.”

Nick Fury’s smile dropped off of his face: “Just call me Fury, kid.”

Peter nodded and laughed awkwardly; not missing the way Fury’s working eye twitched and his mumbled sigh of “kids.”

“As I was saying, Parker. I work for a very special organization. You wouldn’t have heard of it, it’s called S.H.I.E.L.D. That stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

Peter drowned his tongue in the glass of water Fury – he assumed – had so kindly set out for him so he wouldn’t continue to embarrass himself. So these were the guys Hawkeye had been referring to!

“…and due to the way you completely ripped up that station. We’ve not missed the fact that Harry Osborn a.k.a the Green Goblin, funny little nickname which you can thank Barton for, has a personal vendetta against one Peter Parker.”

Peter choked on his glass of water unsure of whether to laugh or cry, “Th-they’re calling him the _Green Goblin?”_

Fury grinned, “It’s cute isn’t it? _Don’t interrupt me again,”_ Peter sank lower into the chair as Fury leveled a particularly fantastic glare in his direction, “Anyway, we now have reason to believe that Ravencroft has been compromised. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to deliberate any action against them; we’ve only got your word and Barton’s to go on, and all the underground cameras were destroyed by Connors and Barton in their bust up.”

“You say you know this Harry Osborn, well if he knows you and your activities I’m afraid your family is no longer safe. We’ve had to bring your Aunt in and explain the situation to her. We’re going to move her to a more secure location for her own safety, but we’re still working out the details.”

Peter nodded as solemnly as he could, “Thank you Mr. Fury-sir. My aunt and I are very grateful; we’ll be happy wherever you decide to put us.”

Fury tittered and his smile was equally sly as it was lazy.

“Surely you don’t think we’re going to waste your talents, Mr. Parker? You won’t be going to stay with your aunt, no – not unless you want to. What we want is to fully take advantage of what you have to offer us. I’m a very resourceful man, Parker. Much like my late Grand-pappy.”

Peter’s eyes widened and his brain seemed to fizzle in both excitement and dread. S.H.I.E.L.D wanted his help and his input? This could mean he would meet the mighty Avengers or even fight alongside them. Peter bit his lip. This also meant he would have to fight Harry. Again and again. Facing down his best friend with intent to harm. Forced to watch as Harry’s madness consumed him.

“D-does this mean you want me to fight alongside Captain America?”

Fury scoffed, “Cap’s a busy man with a shit-ton of issues that you definitely don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole, Parker. No, you’ll just be fighting alongside Barton for now. He likes to call it baby-sitting. We like to call it disciplinary-action-for-being-a-little-bitch so now he’s stuck with you.”

Peter grimaced, “Oh.”

Fury continued, “You’ll have the pleasure of working with Agent Barton in apprehending the escaped convict Dr. Curt Connors. I believe that you and Connors are already acquainted.”

Peter’s expression hardened, “What does S.H.I.E.L.D want with Dr. Connors? Isn’t this a bit below you?”

“Use that brain of yours, Parker. If Osborn and his lackeys can’t have you, who do you think they’re going to go after next? Do you think it was an accident that Connors escaped Ryker’s? No, this was orchestrated. We have reason to believe that Aleksei Systevich was brought in there purposely-“

“Now hang on a minute, I fought that dim-witted mobster and let me tell you, it was not easy to kick his horn in!”

Fury glared and Peter promptly shut up.

“Parker, let go of your ego for one second and let me finish. We believe the Rhino was brought into Ryker’s in order to communicate a message to Connors and to consequently free him. I’m not sure what that means to you, but to me, that means those twisted serum-fuelled bastards are going after the twisted serum-brewing bastard. That makes this a much bigger problem than you expect.”

“Well, shit.”

Fury nodded, “Yes. Shit. I’m going to direct you to Agent Sitwell who’ll give you a quick debriefing. I’m a very busy man after all.”

* * *

 

_The Triskelion, Washington D.C., A day later_

Peter was still giddy. He’d been flown out on the mother-freaking _helicarrier_ to D.C. Hell, Fury could have slapped him on a plane, but no, they upgraded him to the freaking helicarrier! All the agents onboard had given him strange looks as he’d waltzed around the hallways of the mighty airship, his hands shaking in excitement. And now he was at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters of all places!

“Hello, Mr. Parker. I’ll be delivering the de-briefing and introducing you to Agent Barton.”

Peter smiled and shook Sitwell’s tawny hand firmly.

Peter immediately took a liking to Agent Sitwell - despite their less-than-friendly initial meeting - as he trailed after him through the gaping halls of the Triskelion. Sitwell was well-groomed, flaunted his baldness with little care and possessed a smooth voice. Plus, Peter would always be sympathetic to a guy with glasses.

“Now, Mr. Parker, your primary objective is to apprehend escaped convict Dr. Connors and to keep him in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody by delivering him back to us. However, as you know we have reason to believe that Connors is also being pursued by the Green Goblin a.k.a. Harold Osborn.”

“You will be partnering up with Agent Barton for this assignment for that very reason. You say you’ve tackled the Green Goblin before, but if Connors is hit with the serum again, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Finally, they stopped outside of a set of double doors. The smooth scent of polish, rubber, and sweat hit his nostrils and Peter guessed that they were outside of the gymnasium. Not that the sign stating as such hadn’t tipped him off already.

Sitwell turned to him with a twisted smile, “Fair warning: Barton has a grumpy disposition and doesn’t take kindly to young people. But you two are already familiar so who knows?”

Barton was not happy after all. As Peter walked into the room a punching bag soared over his head and very nearly made Agent Sitwell have to seriously consider retirement planning. In fact, Barton was just plain pissed. His face was red, from exertion and anger, and his muscular arms were heaving like a manic pulley system.

Peter gaped.

“I’m working with _Hawkeye?”_

Clinton Barton looked up and glared at Peter, “I’m supposed to coddle this kid again?”

Peter offered a sarcastic sort of wave. Barton rolled his eyes and spat on the ground, “I can’t believe I get to miss out on hanging here in D.C. with Nat and instead have to babysit this little shit whilst we take care of his little school yard brawl. _Seriously, Fury?"_

After bellowing the last part at the ceiling, Clint slumped down onto the floor in a sulk, muttering under his breath.

_“That’s the last time I let a lizard fuck up a subway system…”_

Peter was not impressed; surely they could have called out Captain America from whatever mission he was on and get him to help apprehend Connors instead?

“You should have left me in the underground, I would have been _happier.”_

Peter frowned, “Hey, I don’t like this anymore than you. Heck, I wish I was working with Captain America but we’re stuck together, alright?”

Clint cracked his knuckles in disinterest, “Whatever, kid. I’m gonna go grab myself a sandwich.”

“He’ll warm up to the idea.” Sitwell offered lightly as Peter folded his arms in displeasure.

* * *

 

_Ravencroft Institute, A Week Later_

“What’s going on?” Harry questioned as the guards escorted him outside with Fiers striding beside him.

“You are going on a little field trip to D.C.” Fiers smiled, “The others are going to help you track down an itsy-bitsy spider. If we’re lucky we’ll manage to nab a lizard too.”

_Oh, well this day was bound to be interesting._

* * *

 

_A Freeway, Washington D.C., Present Day_

Peter’s week in D.C. had flown by rapidly and before he knew it, he and Hawkeye were packing their bags to track down Connors. The S.H.I.E.L.D. issue truck that Fury had leant them was deceptively shabby looking and in fact was bullet-proof and had many high-tech secrets of its own. But even prospect of gadgets and the issue of high-tech equipment hadn’t lifted Peter’s rapidly disintegrating spirits.

For with the passing time, Peter’s excitement had bubbled away and been replaced with an unpleasant sensation of dread. His melancholic thinking patterns had crept up on him unexpectedly and Peter suddenly found himself in the dumps. Flashbacks of the past year, Gwen, Harry, the subway, they all continued to haunt him. But with that came new anxiety issues. Would they find Connors in time? Would Connors even go with him?

And what of Harry?

The sensation heightened and Peter grimaced.

His best friend.

What had happened to him? Just who was he working with? Who was twisting the once pure mind of his friend? Who was really pulling the strings?

Harry was capable of evil things, sure. Peter had discovered that the hard way and would never forget it. But the young man he knew was also capable of overwhelming good. Peter couldn’t let that go. He couldn’t possibly give up that part of Harry. The boy that had looked past his disheveled demeanor and had befriended him; that had been everything through those initial years of school.

Peter choked. Harry was the boy that had greeted him warmly, as if they had never parted, many years later. Harry was many things. But he was most definitely human.

“You alright, kid?”

Peter jerked upwards to see Hawkeye’s gaze flicking over to him and back to road. His hard mouth was set in concern.

Merely shrugging, Peter murmured wryly, “Yeah, I’m just tired, is all. First flying to D.C. and now heading out into the middle of nowhere. It’s all a bit disconcerting.”

Clint eyed him meaningfully. _Bullshit._

“Whatever you say, kid. I always get pre-mission grumps too. It doesn’t really go away, but it gets a whole lot easier, I’ll tell you that.”

A sense of relief and gratitude washed over Peter. Clint had caught him out, of course he had. But the seasoned agent hadn’t breached the subject. Clint certainly wasn’t as prickly and blunt as he presented himself.

Their brief moment of understanding did not last long.

“…what on earth is _that?”_

Alarmed by Clint’s sudden outburst, Peter drew his attention away from his hands and out onto the road. There, amidst wildly swerving cars, and a dangerous amount of poisonous green smoke was a familiar flying contraption.

Clint slammed onto the breaks and brought the truck to a bone-shattering stop, which made Peter sore and light-headed. Distantly, he could hear the sound of Clint swearing.

 _“Shit, shit, shit._ How in the hell did he find us?”

Peter dazedly exited the truck at Clint’s pushing, not quite registering their situation.

_“Sitwell! We have a situation! I’m not sure how Osborn found us but he did!”_

_Harry…_

_“Agent Barton! This is Sitwell. I leave this to your discretion. Keep us updated. Back-up is at your disposal.”_

The two ducked behind the back of the truck and hitched the boot opened. The archer moved with a startling amount of professionalism; quickly arming himself and donning the S.H.I.E.L.D. standard armor with rapid movements. A familiar dance, no doubt.

Peter’s own movements felt sluggish as he donned his mask and removed his civilian clothes to reveal his Spider-Man suit.

When they finally turned to face their enemy, both parties halted.

The ‘Green Goblin’ looked worse for wear and so different to their encounter in the Underground. His skin on his twitching limbs was mottled and his hair was swept back erratically from his sweating face. Harry looked as ill as he had back on that terrible night when everything Peter loved had been lost.

Had Harry taken more of the serum? Or was the one dose affecting him intermittently? Peter did not know.

Harry’s features remained impassive, but his eyes revealed his true disposition. They were filled with an astonishing white-cold fury that could drown Peter in an instant.

Peter’s mouth went dry. He felt his mouth moving, but no sound escaped.

_“Spider-Man.”_

The words flew and were hissed, rather than spoken.

“You’re going to come with us and tell us where Connors is.”

The smoke cleared, and Harry’s use of ‘us’ became horrifically clear to Peter.

This time, Harry was not alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Harry is gay, than he would totally have the hots for Kravinoff. That guy is six-foot muscle and rugged good looks. Seriously.  
> Too bad about the insanity thing though.


	4. The Sinister Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to RUUUUMMMBBBBLLLEE.  
> Peter gets into a cat-fight; Hawkeye has a shitty day as usual; and Harry is a little shit with shitty friends. Fuck you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve slightly twisted the time-line in this one as the events of Amazing Spider-Man 2 seem to occur over a few days, whereas I head-canon those events as taking place over at least a week. So Peter checks up on Harry a few times rather than just the one ‘refusal’ scene because as a best-friends he’s going to be concerned about Harry’s self-destructive behavior. Really.
> 
> Brownie points to whoever of you spots the Ultimate Spider-Man reference. It’s pretty darn obvious if you’ve watched the second season of the show. If you haven’t watched it yet go do so: Man of Action have done such a great job with the characters (well, as much as they can whilst still satisfying the target audience).
> 
> De-briefing:  
> Agent Jasper Sitwell - an espionage agent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. (Marvel Movies Wiki, 2014)  
> Sergei Kravinoff – Kraven the Hunter  
> Gustav Fiers – ‘The Gentleman’  
> Felicia Hardy – Black Cat  
> Aleksei Systevich – one of the many aliases for ‘The Rhino’
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Kravinoff says some pretty ableist stuff towards Hawkeye so warning for that.  
> SPOILERS (not really?): Also contains some Iron Man 3/Age of Ultron nitbits in concern to Tony and the origins of Ultron.

_A Freeway, Washington D.C., Present Day_

Standing on either side of the young man was a line-up of colourful characters. Rhino, on the far right, was impossible to miss, the huge metal construct hissing and wheezing metallically; on Harry’s direct left was a large burly man armed with a fantastic array of weapons all over his body; and lastly, the sole woman by the behemoth’s side was wearing a tactical one-piece like the one the Black Widow donned, and had formidable claws that glinted dangerously. She looked undeniably powerful as she leered at them, though her mask obscured her features well.

_“Sitwell! The Osborn brat has back-up!”_

Clint exchanged a worried glance with Peter, “Uh…you take the guy on the left?”

“That one’s a _girl.”_

 _“Ugh._ This is such chicken-shit.”

Harry smiled, his teeth still disturbingly sharp in his considerably petite mouth, “I’m sorry that we couldn’t all make it, but we’ll have to hash it out none-the-less, I’m afraid.”

Clint scowled, _“What?!_ There’s more of you freaks? This is SUCH chicken-shit!”

Peter gripped the bridge of his nose exasperatedly and sighed quietly, “I think we’ve established what _kind_ of shit this is, already.”

Their banter quickly came to a halt however as the enemy approached them in a hauntingly straight line. Clint’s hand rose slowly to his quiver and his fingers danced a familiar pattern around the arrow shafts – no doubt a nervous twitch.

Then the formation changed and the behemoth of a man stepped forward.

“Wounded animals are the easiest to kill.”

The burly man aimed a strange gun directly at Hawkeye’s head and pulled the trigger. No bullet, or energy blast was released. Just dead silence.

But the man had aimed at Hawkeye’s head, not his leg…

_What did he mean by wounded?_

The man smirked and a dread settled over Peter.

Suddenly, Clint collapsed to his knees, howling in pain and clutching at his ears. Panic overtook Peter and he found himself shaking Hawkeye by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Hawkeye? What’s wrong?!”

Clint’s facial features contorted in agony and no reply came.

_“That bastard’s messed with his hearing aid.”_

The voice sounded over Peter’s comm system and though he did not recognise it, he immediately leapt to his feet and fired a volley from his web-shooter at the burly man. The man stumbled back as the array of webs blinded him and knocked the vicious gun from his hands.

Peter took up a defensive stance and shielded Clint. It was a hopeless effort however.

The Rhino suit advanced slowly, the machinery whirring steadily with its every step. The hunter and the girl loyally followed the wicked contraption, the hunter’s face red with fury and the girl appeared as impassive and intimidating as ever.

And most disturbing of all was Harry towering above them all, on his glider. Harry had always belonged on a pedestal but it was strange to see him as such now. This was wrong, dark, twisted. Not what the real Harry would appear like at all.

Peter was undoubtedly outnumbered.

* * *

 

As Peter faced the malevolent gang before him and accepted his defeat, a sudden series of blasts sounded. With a _whoosh_ and several more like it, rockets appeared in the sky and collided with Aleksei Systevich.

Peter shielded his face as the blast shook the very ground and sent bits of machinery flying through the air.

The smoke began to clear and when Peter dared to open to his eyes, he found himself dogged by two metal suits. _Stark suits._

The two suits advanced upon Rhino, with their arms raised. Without a hitch in their rhythm, they immediately fired upon the hulking structure.

The Rhino was sent sprawling backwards as a rocket collided with its middle whilst his allies rapidly sought cover behind toppled cars and debris as the suits tore up the freeway. Caught up in the commotion, Peter barely noticed the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents helping him to his feet and dragging Hawkeye away from the ongoing battle.

Clint barked wearily into the mouthpiece as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent supported him up.

 _“Stark?!_ What the hell are you doing?”

_“You guys looked like you needed my indispensable help, what else can I say?”_

“We didn’t ask you!”

 _“You didn’t have to,”_ Stark retorted dryly, _“All of America is watching your little brawl quite intently. They all want to know why Spider Man is teaming up with you and why the Osborn heir is attacking everyone on a glider. You know, the usual.”_

Clint flushed angrily and didn’t answer. Peter did.

“Iron Man? Awesome!”

_“…and that’s Spider Man isn’t it? Nice to meet you, kid. Listen; get Clint’s head in the game, a’right?”_

_“Iron Man? This link is secure, how in the hell did you get on here?”_

Nick Fury did not sound happy.

_“Aww, Nick. You know me. I have my ways.”_

_“I don’t want to hear it. If you’re gonna piss us off you’d better actually be here to help as well.”_

_“I won’t let you down, eye-patch.”_

“If you want to help us Tony, put on your damn suit!”

Stark’s tone became awkward, _“No can do. You know that, Clint. I’ll help from afar. My bots can handle my workload easy.”_

Clint growled as the comm disconnected and shook off the persistent hands of his fellow agents.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! Goddamn it! I can still fight these mutant jerks.”

Cracking his bow open, Clint headed determinately back into the fray. Shrugging at the agents, Peter ran after him.

* * *

 

Far away along the road, the first two Stark bots were still battling fiercely against Rhino, whose strong armor was impervious to a good percentage of their arsenal.

The burly man and Harry had seemingly disappeared, if it weren’t for the swarm of Stark bots yelping “stand down”, forming a deadly screen across half of the freeway, which indicated otherwise. No doubt beyond the wall of ever-advancing bots, the pair was firing all that they had against Stark’s army.

_Hadn’t there been a fourth person?_

The shivering, cold sensation that was Peter’s “spidey-sense” washed over him and he immediately dove to the side just as the fourth person – the fierce girl - from before lashed out at him.

Peter swung his leg to trip her up, but she immediately leapt backwards onto the road landing with a ridiculous amount of grace. Peter all but blushed at the sight.

She advanced yet again and swiping her claws with a deadly amount of precision. Peter yelped as his arm was caught beneath the unforgivable metal and struck out wildly at the girl, landing a hit on her abdomen.

She flew backwards, before advancing again.

Yet again, he dodged, but this time caught the girl by the arm and threw her away from himself. To his surprise, the girl doubled over onto the bitumen, in an almost comical fashion. Her groans were laced with unmistakable agony and her limbs twitched.

_He hadn’t hit her that hard, had he?_

Suddenly, Clint appeared beside him, bow strung, and immediately shot her.

To Peter’s relief, a simple snare escaped from the arrow and encased the girl’s writhing form.

Senseless killing was not something he sought to take pleasure in, no matter how evil a person was. A lesson he had to remind himself of everyday as he thought of Uncle Ben, Captain Stacey, and Gwen.

Clint smiled proudly and clapped Peter’s shoulder, “Nice work, kid! We caught one of those serum-chugging jerks!”

Grinning, Peter returned the compliment, “Nice snarrow shot!”

Clint gave Peter an incredulous look, _“Snarrow?”_

“Yeah, you know, snare and arrow makes a snarrow!”

 _“Holy mother of Fury,_ this kid is a MORON.”

Nick sounded all too amused on the comm-link, _“Oh, you’ll get the hang of it.”_

Clint popped a blood vessel.

“Shouldn’t you be attacking that tree-elf thing? Not making _god-awful_ puns?!”

As he spoke, the wall of bots gave way and the two villains and Rhino began to make a hasty escape.

Peter mock-saluted Clint and immediately swung off after Harry’s retreating glider.

* * *

 

_The Triskelion, Washington D.C., Present Day_

Peter stumbled into one of the many darkened interrogation rooms of the Triskelion. There was no spring in his step; Harry had escaped him yet again. The burly man had fired another particularly nasty weapon at him that has made his ears ring and his “spidey-sense” go haywire. He had been writhing upon the roof of a café when the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had finally picked him up.

Luckily for S.H.I.E.L.D., Harry had forgotten to retrieve all of his lackeys.

Clint was leaning on the table, his strong arms crossed over his wide chest unhappily. Sitting with him were two other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

But sitting disconsolate on a chair in the corner with her arms and legs restrained was a dark-haired girl with bright eyes and a dead-pan expression upon her face.

_Felicia._

Peter stumbled slightly in shock, “Holy crap, you’re _Harry’s_ assistant!”

“So what?” the Felicia breathed angrily, spit running down her chin.

One of her arms was in a sling. Peter did not remember making that.

Ignoring her, Peter turned to the agents and fixed them with a suspicious glare.

“She was injured already when you guys intercepted her. Her arm had been dislocated. We fixed her up with a sling and with a little bit of time, she should be good to go.”

Clint smirked, “That’s how you took her out so easily, hot-shot.”

His grin faded as he glared at Harry’s assistant and his tone was angry, “You’re gonna tell us what that brat is planning, _right now!”_

Felicia spat at them furiously, “I’ll never betray Harry to you assholes!”

Clint groaned in frustration and turned to Peter, whispering angrily, “This chick isn’t gonna say _anything!”_

The S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel quickly became restless as they observed the so-called interrogation. Clint suddenly became deadly calm.

“Why are you so invested in _protecting_ these maniacs? Did they promise you money or something?”

Felicia turned her head and pursed her lips tightly. Clint did not turn his gaze from her, continuing to stare her down relentlessly.

Why was she so protective of Harry? Felicia was a strong and loyal friend to Harry, it seemed. Peter was almost jealous of her fierceness. She could protect Harry with little fear, whilst he had stood by and let Harry succumb to his own hatred and anxiety. Why couldn’t he protect Harry?

Perhaps Felicia’s goals weren’t too different from his own. Didn’t they both want the best for Harry?

“Look, Felicia,” Peter said gently, “It seems both you and I want the same thing: to protect Harry Osborn.”

Felicia scrutinized him carefully, “How would I know that you want that too?”

Peter sighed. He only had one option.

Felicia gasped as Peter took off his mask, “You? But that would mean…”

She trailed off momentarily, her eyes fixed to the floor, swimming in deep-thought.Peter gripped the mask nervously. Finally, Felicia raised her dark head and stared at him intensely.

“I believe you.” She whispered softly, eyes hard, “I saw you, you know, when you were checking up on him.”

* * *

 

_Harry’s apartment, 6 months ago_

Harry was curled up on his couch and once again the furniture was strewn haphazardly around the room and the floor was covered in the glass shards of Harry’s many bottles of scotch, the scotch itself was caked onto the walls in strange and violent artistic strokes. Harry’s fingers were white from where he was gripping the couch tightly, his brow was furrowed and tears were staining his face, yet sleep was upon him. Even in sleep, Harry was plagued by his troubles.

Peter took in the scene and gasped in horror and guilt. This wasn’t the first time he had checked up on Harry since his refusal, yet the utter berth and fury of Harry’s actions made him recoil every single time. Peter forced the window open and crept in, landing on the floor gracefully. He dodged the glass shards with his easy footing and gently made his way towards his best friend. He easily gathered up Harry in his arms due to his strength. Harry lolled, exhaustion and sleep having overtaken his body, and Peter readjusted him so that Harry’s head was leaning against his chest. Peter carried Harry into his bedroom and placed him upon the soft bedding carefully. He pulled back the covers before tucking Harry in and brushing his hair down lovingly with his hand. The hardest part was always leaving. Peter was very selfish – his friend’s pain wasn’t the difficult part, leaving him to revel in it was the most difficult. Peter was overcome with the need to stay with his friend but he knew in his heart that Harry wouldn’t appreciate it.

As Peter left the room, he failed to notice Harry’s assistant perched beside the door, watching him carefully with a smile on her face as she took note of his apparent love for his best friend.

* * *

 

_The Triskelion, Washington D.C., Present Day_

Peter’s cheeks went pink, “Oh, you saw that huh?”

Felicia nodded, ignoring Hawkeye’s suspicious glare.

“We could use your skills, Felicia.” Peter said, “You and I both have Harry’s best interests at heart. We can protect him, both of us, together.”

The girl shifted awkwardly on the chair with her eyes set upon the floor. Her voice was quieter and more thoughtful as she spoke.

“…even I don’t know what he’s truly planning…all I know is he that he and the Gentleman are on equal footing.”

Peter quirked a brow in confusion and out of the corner of his eye, Hawkeye visibly stiffened.

“The Gentleman?”

Felicia pursed her lips, “It seems we have a lot to talk about, Peter.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, those bots are the Ultrons (if Stark has made a swarm of them which appears so from the new trailer - but that may have been Ultron's handy work).
> 
> And that most definitely is the same freeway that The Winter Soldier attacks Cap, Falcon, and Widow on. Yeyeah.


	5. First Class to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint knows what’s up; Peter only came out here to have a good time and is honestly feeling so attacked right now; and Felicia is surrounded by love-sick morons. Snarrows bitches.  
> Warning for sickly D&Ms. This is a full-blown intervention, kiddos.

_[Location Undisclosed], Present Day_

Peter leant forwards slightly to change the station. The radio crackled slightly as he sorted through the many channels to find a quality news station.

Not an easy task.

He resolutely ignored Clint who was grumbling at his indecisiveness. Aside from the occasional observation or complaint, they had all been fairly quiet in the truck. Felicia had fallen asleep in the back, her head lolling against the rest, whilst Clint had assumed the responsibility of driver and had consumed a disturbing amount of caffeine along the way. Surprisingly, he had entrusted Peter with his communicator to which Stark was sending them coordinates and clues to Connor’s possible whereabouts. Truthfully, they were all tired and yet uneasy.

There was something slightly eerie in heading out into the middle of nowhere and the lingering shadow of the enemies chasing them did little to soothe them.

Taking no chances, Fury had completely reissued their mission briefings and only to those directly involved. They had been given a new high-tech truck, that was disguised of course, and strangely enough Fury had announced that Tony Stark was going to be their correspondent. It was suspicious. Or at least, that was what Clint had told him.

He’d whispered in Peter’s ear as they left, “We still don’t know how Osborn and his lackeys found us on that freeway. That girl isn’t as well informed as we thought. From here on out, we’re pulling out extra-stops to cover our tracks. But don’t forget we’re gonna need _speed_ and _precision_ to secure Connors.”

_“Just pick a station!”_

Peter jumped at Clint’s outburst and furrowed his brow at the archer’s grumpy tone.

“Yeah, yeah. _Okay.”_

_“ – recent attack upon a Washington freeway has been directly linked to a power outage in Manhattan earlier this week that caused what authorities are calling the biggest ever prison-break in the Big Apple’s history. Reports from the scene, the time-worn institute of Ravencroft, state that just over a dozen patients, including heir of the multi-billion dollar company, Harry Osborn, made their escape in the chaos. Whilst many of the inmates were retained almost immediately, at least five are still on the loose. Authorities are warning civilians to stay vigilant.”_

Glaring stonily at the road, Clint murmured, “That’s most definitely a cover-up. Ravencroft’s been bought out for sure. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s probably having a field day trying to hush this up and keep everyone calm.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, “…just how _far_ does Oscorp’s influence stretch, Clint?”

“It’s impossible to say.”

“Not quite. Harry would know.”

Clint fixed his gaze to the rear-view mirror to stare at the sleepy, yet most definitely awake, Oscorp assistant before flicking his eyes back to the road.

Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Peter turned to face Felicia, “What makes you think that?”

“I think Norman gave Harry the sum-total of his works. That’s what he said he was going to do anyway. I assumed that he must have considering how quickly he discovered that ex-Oscorp employee at Ravencroft…” she trailed off, yawning quietly.

A long silence stretched over them, broken only by the jarring news report streaming from the crackly radio.

_“-with the lizard infestation, the electrical attacks, and now the outbreak at Ravencroft, it seems Manhattan is under siege. When will this madness end? When will the citizens of this city be able to sleep soundly in their beds at night, confident that no more random acts of terrorism will occur –“_

Clint changed the station bluntly.

“If we don’t wrap this mission up quickly, something tells me that every red-neck in D.C. and Manhattan will end up killing these guys for us.”

 

* * *

 

_A Diner in the Middle-of-Nowhere (Just North of D.C.), Present Day_

Clint mauled a disgusting grease-ridden burger, tomato juice and oil running rampant down his burly forearms. Peter stared in mild awe as Clint devoured it violently, cheese flying in random directions and hitting him in the face. Felicia, with cheese globules in her hair, looked disgusted and ate her own ‘heart-attack-inducing’ burger with a ridiculously graceful hold.

To everyone’s relief, Clint finally paused for a minute. He looked Peter straight in the eye and waved his burger at him for emphasis.

“So, you’re telling me,” Clint said steadily, mouth full, “That your boyfriend-turned-nasty-elf is chasing after us while we chase after a respectable-doctor-turned-scaly-mutant?”

Peter choked on his food and raised a dismissive brow, _“No_ … My _best-friend-turned-enemy_ is chasing after us whilst we track down _Dr. Connors.”_

Clint waved his burger dismissively, grease spraying the even greasier table, “That’s what I just said isn’t it?”

Peter glared and tore into his own burger. A stray piece of cheese hit Felicia, who grimaced.

Clint all but inhaled the remnants of his burger before speaking again, “I don’t even care. All I know is that I could be in D.C. with Nat and instead I’m here with you kiddy-winkles chasing a cave-troll whilst avoiding Legolas and his band of merry-men.”

“And he’s _not_ my boyfriend.” Peter muttered bitterly.

Clint lowered his purple-tinted sunglasses – purely for dramatic effect – and gave Peter a look.

“You can’t be serious,” he turned to Felicia, “Is he serious?”

 

Then Clint levelled Peter with a particularly patronising smirk, “Oh, I saw it all in the underground, I practically had a front-row suit. I _saw_ you two eyeing each other up. All goo-goo eyes at each other, and it would have made my heart melt if Connors wasn’t tearing me to shreds.”

“You and I have a very different idea of what went on in that subway…”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be shy, kid. I _know_ that look. At first you _think_ it’s hate, but then the next minute you’re wrestling in an _entirely_ different way.”

Clint paused and his eyes glazed over dreamily, “Budapest was _really_ nice.”

Not bothering to ask about whatever had happened in _Budapest_ of all places, Peter grimaced and suddenly the glass in his hands shattered. He swore loudly.

Felicia was staring at him, green eyes wide.

“Oh god, you _are_ banging him.”

Peter’s cheeks went red, “What? No!”

_“Buuuuuuuut,_ you wish you were!” Clint sang.

Peter slammed his hand against the table, making all the patrons of the greasy joint stare.

“For god’s sake, Hawkeye, shut your stupid mouth! I don’t want to talk about Harry, right now.”

To his relief, Clint shrugged and went back to eating whilst Felicia gave him a small smile. An uncomfortable silence fell over them, but it was better than discussing Harry Osborn so nonchalantly.

* * *

 

A weight dropped beside him on the cool grass and Peter subconsciously shuffled over to accommodate them. Whilst the diner had been less-than stellar, the park outside was fairly decent.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It was Felicia, talking about Harry. Of course he didn’t really want to talk about Harry with Felicia. It was tough to talk about him with anyone at the moment, but something about the tone of Felicia’s voice indicated that she in fact wanted to. That made Peter stop and think.

He shrugged; a neutral sort of response. He didn’t really know her, so if she wanted to talk she could and he would join in at his own pace. That seemed fair.

“He’s still very sick, you know. The retroviral hyperplasia has slowed, but some of the side effects have accelerated along with other unknown effects caused by the serum.”

Peter nodded, his mouth suddenly quite dry.

“…he looked better back in the subway. But then on the freeway, he looked worse than ever.” Peter whispered hoarsely, his fingers tightening around his knees.

Nodding sadly, Felicia continued to talk to him, “Yes, it comes and goes. He’s at his lowest point. The sickness, the loss of his dad, you making an appearance into his life, and now his ‘friendship’ with Fiers. It’s taken a toll on him, Peter.”

_Oh god. Why did she have to say it out loud?_

His teeth ground together. He didn’t want to think about it at all.

Felicia must have noticed his sour expression because her tone became considerably softer.

“I think that deep down, he still has hope that he’ll recover. Why would he go to all this trouble if he didn’t truly have some semblance of hope left in him? He may not be going about it in the right way…but I know he wants to get better.”

“How can you say that?”

Her smile became wistful, “Every time he looks in the mirror, he looks sad. He may not even notice it. I don’t think he can stand to look so weak or sick at all. He’s proud... and stubborn.”

Peter made a sound that was half a laugh and half a choked sob.

_That was Harry alright._

* * *

 

_[Location Undisclosed], Present Day_

As they began to head further inland, Peter began to notice that Barton was becoming increasingly more restless. As the days dragged on, Clint’s frown seemed to deepen and he snapped more at him and Felicia. It was difficult to sympathise with the man when his anger was being directed at you, but Peter still felt bad for him. Something had clearly unnerved Clint.

The red-neck tail-gater broke the figurative camel’s back.

When Clint nearly crashed the van in rage, Peter and Felicia finally convinced him to pull over.

Jumping out and slamming the door, the archer slumped against the side of the truck. Exchanging concerned looks, Peter and Felicia followed after him.

“Clint.”

“What?” the man muttered harshly.

“You need to tell us what’s going on. You’ve been looking worse with every day and you’ve hardly slept.”

Felicia nodded, “Don’t shut us out. This is a team effort and we all need to work together.”

The man seemed to seize up, but then he let out a long-drawn out sigh of frustration as he sank to the ground. He pulled out his transmitter and showed it to the two others.

Clint scowled up at the transmitter, “I’ve been trying to contact Fury for a few days now and it’s like he’s dropped off the map. Same with Nat. I’m really…worried. It’s not like Fury or Nat to ignore me, not like this. I’ve even tried Cap, but he’s not available either. Something’s wrong, I’m sure of it.”

“Does Stark know anything?” Felicia questioned.

“He’s as lost as I am,” Clint sighed, shaking his head; “He’s tried Nat and Cap. If Stark can’t get to them…I don’t know what to think…”

Peter didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened as he mentioned the Nat girl.

He sat down beside Clint and spoke softly, “Should we head back to D.C. to check it out?”

Barton shook his head wearily and sighed heavily, “Nah, I have to trust that Nat and Fury would contact me straight away. You guys will have to forgive me, I don’t deal well when I’m kept in the dark.”

He turned to Peter with a sad wink, “We have to take care of your little classroom muck-up first before we make any other plans. I have a duty to you guys too.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but nonetheless he slapped Clint on the shoulder encouragingly as they stood up and headed back into the van.

“Okay, let’s get this done then.”

* * *

 

_J.F.K. International Airport, About Nine Years Prior_

Rain and fog had descended upon Manhattan in a dreary manner, which was strangely reflective of the Osborn heir’s mood. Eleven year old Harry Osborn absent-mindedly traced the thick oval of glass with his hand. Only, it wasn’t like the glass of the family limo, or even like the windows of Pete’s room. When it rained and it fogged up, you could write messages on the glass after breathing on it. Like a secret messaging system. He and Peter had even learnt to write backwards – in English, and their own secret language - to better it.

But this window remained resolutely foggy and rain-beaten.

It was like a divine warning. These plane windows weren’t like the other ones…surely something was wrong?

He sniffled loudly, but no tears fell. He’d cried so much when Norman had sentenced him to boarding school, and again when he’d told Pete, that it wasn’t really a surprise. He must have used all his tears up when he’d soaked Peter’s with his woes, and again on his own sleeve.

He hadn’t dared to cry on Norman, of course. That wasn’t the Osborn way.

No, instead he’d spent the day in his room sobbing into his Harry Potter bed-spread.

Only, he wasn’t going to Hogwarts to learn wizardry and to battle the dark Lord Voldemort. Peter had made the initial comparison and it had cheered him up considerably. Though, that had only lasted temporarily as Norman had bluntly told him that he was going to school in London, not in Scotland.

This was the _worst._

This was _awful._

It wasn’t _fair._

“You’ll make new friends,” Norman had told him smoothly, “We Osborn men are born minglers.”

Harry didn’t want new friends. He wanted to play with Peter forever. Peter was the only friend he needed or wanted.

Granted, the other kids at Mid-Town were a bit dippy, but they were fine too!

Heck, even Flash Thompson was better than any ‘new’ friends that Norman had in mind!

Maybe Norman didn’t know? Perhaps he hadn’t considered how awesome Peter was? Well, Harry would just have to prove it.

Tearing his gaze from the window, Harry sat back properly on the leather seat and let his legs swing madly back and forth. He thought quietly for a minute as to what he should do, but then his eyes fell on the guard sitting opposite to him.

Time to test out his secret power.

Shuffling forward, slowly and faux nervously, Harry coughed politely at the man.

He looked up in surprise, an expression which quickly became weary. Not thrown off, Harry went in for the kill.

“Umm… hi,” Harry said sweetly, making sure to look at his shoes, “Uh, do you know what the chances of us crashing are? I’ve never flown without Daddy before… I’m just really scared.”

To Harry’s own surprise, he managed to shed a single tear. _Cool... dramatic. This guy would keel over._

The man pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “Uh, look kid. That stuff almost never happens. You’ll be totally fine, you’ll see.”

_Hmm…time to crank it up a notch._

“C-could you ask the pilot for me, please?” Harry stuttered weakly, making sure to shift his eyes nervously and press his fingers together nervously.

The man looked taken aback. Recovering, he rolled his eyes, but ruffled Harry’s hair with a choked, “Yeah, s-sure kid.”

With that, the man got up and made his way over to the cock-pit. Harry watched him go, a triumphant smirk plastered over his features. His likeness to Norman in that moment would have made him slightly sick, if not proud.

_Aha! Success. Stupid man._

Harry stood still for a moment, contemplative; _so this was the power of the Osborn charm. Nice._

He’d only used it a few times before, but by watching Norman he had managed to hone his skills decently within the past few years. It was an amazing power, to be sure.

But Norman was no superhero.

Walking quickly and quietly, Harry stealthily made his way out the air-lock door and down the metal stairs onto the dark tarmac.

Running away would prove that Harry thought Peter was worth it. Osborn men were men of grand gestures. This was definitely grand. Running all the way to Queens was no mean feat!

Then finally Norman would understand, heck, he’d _have_ to.

They caught him as he sprinted madly across the tarmac, heading towards the airport itself. Harry screamed and writhed madly within the guard’s arms, fighting with every ounce of his strength.Despite his clawing and yelling, they forced him back onto the plane where they buckled him tightly into the seat and shut the door. Slumping into his seat, Harry began to weep.

He hadn’t run out of tears after all.

Norman would be so mad when he found out…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure whether Harry goes to an international boarding school or if he goes to an American one, for the sake of this fic he goes international. Not that it's consequential or anything, just more dramatic.  
> Woo, Harry Osborn goes international. Love the world baby ‘cus it definitely loves you.


End file.
